I'm not a good lover, no good at hand in hand
Never not been exposed, still I pretend
The real me casually breaks free,
What do I do then?
No suggestion comes in
It's what goes around then comes around again and again,
When will it end?

Nobody knows...
...I let no one in so no one knows the situation


I'm not a good adult, I'm not a good friend
Never not been exposed, why do I still pretend
The real me awkwardly breaks free,
What do I do then?
I suggest hide the specimen within
It goes around then comes around again and again,
Is it going to end?

Nobody knows...
...search and rescue called off for no reason

I'm not a good man, I'm not a righteous person
Never not been exposed, I've given up pretendin'
The real me aggressively breaks free,
What do I do then?
Didn't we call each other friend?
What goes 'round, right 'round comes right 'round 'round again and again,
It's just not gonna end

Nobody knows...

©2024

Billowed down onto natures bust
a face full of dirt
a mouth full of maggots
corpsing coercion onto frantic plates
slopping up the juicy details
derailing off the tracks
into a new train of nature,
saving only what comes of value
yet, you don't save yourselves.

Lucrative hands slithering softly by
ready to steal your life with just a touch
how much are you worth?
Unfortunately, nothing.

Laughter turned to screams without Her.

Am I the,
Artistic type?
The one who sees the world through a different lens
who turns sounds into colors
and sites in to Smells
into feeling
and two children running are not children running
they’re Happiness
Joy
their giggles turn into Yellow and Pastel Pink
turn to Sunshine
turn to Waking
turn to Serenity
Relaxing on the beach
where you can hear the baby blue and white waves
and see the soft calming sand slipping through your fingers and toes
turning to…

Maybe-- I am the,
Partying type.
Ragers
Dance Grinding
music Pounding
the same beat of our heads
of our bodies
flashing lights
the dark and the heat
Wild
Drinking Screaming
loving one another with our bodies
not caring who it is
because
our bodies don't care
if we are in sync
what is the difference
the same…

What if I'm the,
Frantic type?
the Busy type
Scrambling, Rushing
time is something I don't have Time for
running is my Past
if only I had Passed Time
noise flies by
not looking anywhere but straight
car horns, buildings, wind blowing
the sound of friction across my own skin and the skin of those like me.
that is my Familiarity
Air I do not Breathe
it flows through me.
it hits me and I consume it
I do not Break for it
I cannot Break for it
I…

How about,
the Silent One?
nose in a book,
hearing the voices in the background.
looking up occasionally, to see the others.
see their confusion.
their Hindsight is my Foresight,
I understand what will happen before it does.
because,
I've seen it before,
I can look ahead,
see the outcome,
slow down the world like it's a video in an editing software that I can stop.
Slow down.
Rewind.
Rewatch.
that I can…

Perhaps,
I am all of them.
Perhaps,
it doesn't matter.
I can turn the sounds rushing by me hitting my skin into color
I can separate time into partying and people watching
Both are possible.
life doesn't have to pass in one form,
it can be Technicolor
and Beautiful at the same time.
sound can pass into colors
and life can either Fly
or Pause-- and drag on.
Either way, it's okay--
because it's me.